I left my Phillie at home,
Do you have another?
I wanna get blunted, my brother.
Smooth B, “DWYCK,” from Gang Starr’s Hard to Earn, 1994
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I left my Phillie at home,
Do you have another?
I wanna get blunted, my brother.
Some seek fame cause they need validation,
Some say hating is confused admiration.
Once in awhile, I’mma cheat and get dome,
But best believe that I’mma always come home.
Shorty, I luv you.
Type to tote the glock and use gats…
You the type to vote Barack cause dude’s black.
I’m no slave to a rhythm, I whip it,
Then I take its name and change its religion,
Then I chop the foot off the fuckin’ beat
For trying to escape the track, now it’s obsolete.
Scared of a bunch of water? Then get out the rain.
Order a rapper for lunch, and spit out the chain.
Shoot eagles on the Jack Nicklaus course,
Porsche with the triple exhaust,
Seats soft like a midget’s cough…
And when I smiled, ‘Bing!’ I almost blinded her.
She said, ‘Great Scot, are you a thief?
Seems like you have a mouth full of gold teeth!’
Hahahaha, had to find that funny,
So I said, ‘No child, I work hard for the money.
And calling me a thief? Please…don’t even try it,
Sit down, eat your slice of pizza, and be quiet.’
Music just ain’t what it used to;
We used to have songs that you could shoplift or boost to.
You’ve got to realize that the world’s a test,
You can only do your best and let Him do the rest.
You’ve got your life, and got your health,
So quit procrastinating and push it yourself.
I wonder, who do you believe in? I know it ain’t me,
I hope it ain’t a priest, or who you seen on TV.
I hope it ain’t your poppa, potna, he only raised you.
And I know it ain’t your mom, even though that’s who you came through…
Hood forever, I just act like I’m civilized.
Really what’s in my mind is organizing a billion Black motherfuckers
To take over JP Morgan, Goldman and Sachs
And teach the world facts and give Saudi they oil back.
Ronald Reagan was an actor. Not at all a factor,
Just an employee of the country’s real masters.
Just like the Bushes, Clinton and Obama,
Just another talkin’ head tellin’ lies on teleprompters.
If you don’t believe the theory, then argue with this logic:
Why did Reagan and Obama both go after Gaddafi?
We invaded sovereign soil, goin’ after oil
Takin’ countries as a hobby paid for by the oil lobby,
Same as Iraq and Afghanistan.
And Ahmadinejad sayin’ they comin’ for Iran…
I show more blind rage than Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles wrestling in a steel cage.
If rhyme is a crime, my mic is my co-defendant.
I had a cigarette for breakfast, just for beginners,
Cried for my lunch, and sleep for dinner.
I don’t like a girl that be hanging with a slut crew,
I can’t sport a female who’s crossed-eyed with a buck tooth.
I need a female I can sport when I’m outdoors.
I’m not choosy…I got a rep to look out for.
It’s a thin line between paper and hate,
Friends and snakes, nine millis and thirty-eights,
Hell or the pearly gates…I was destined to come,
Predicted, blame God, He blew breath in my lungs.
EPMD in effect, I’m clockin’ mad green
Like Kermit the Frog, sloppy like Boss Hog,
Girl was runnin’ wild…ate her like a corn dog.
For underground metaphors, you can scrape an inch below the turf.
For what it’s worth, my style’s been developed in the core of the Earth.
The exhale’s volcanic, the inhale is seismic…
Sunny days wouldn’t be special…if it wasn’t for rain.
Joy wouldn’t feel so good…if it wasn’t for pain.
Death gotta be easy, ‘cause life is hard,
It’ll leave you physically, mentally, and emotionally scarred.
It’s ninety-six degrees in the shade…
Before I catch blood on my blade.
The route to all evil…daily I chase it.
Blow it on weed and drink, and hustle to replace it.
I put the great Mother Nature on a pedestal.
She always fly, but today, she’s exceptional.
On the square…I’m not riffin’ like Andy Griffith,
Just fed up, goin’ head up, with competition.
Went from most hated to the Champion God Flow,
I guess that’s a feelin’ only me and LeBron know.
Keep my planets in orbit,
Never forfeit or quit,
Move forward…
I talk with the awkward slang,
I walk with the Wu-Tang.
Fuck a blog, dog, cause one day we gon’ meet.
This generation lacks true knowledge of how the past has trapped you with psychological lassos over Adam’s apples.
The D’s for doin it all of the time.
M is for the rhymes, that are all mine,
C’s for cool, cool as can be,
And why you wear those glasses? So I can see!
Bass! How low can you go?
Death row…what a brother know.
Once again, back is the incredible,
The rhyme animal, the uncannable “D!”
Public Enemy Number One.
Five-O said, “Freeze!” and I got numb.
Can I tell ‘em that I really never had a gun?
But it’s the wax that the Terminator X spun.
Set me up, wet me up, niggas stuck me up…
Heard the guns bust, but you tricks never shut me up.
When you say you love me, it doesn’t matter.
It goes into my head as just chit-chatter.
You may think it’s egotistical or just worry-free,
But what you say, I take none of it seriously.
Ayo, the arm bone connected to the hand bone,
Nigga, the hand bone connected to the damn chrome!
Fuck a medic, we gon’ call yo ass a taxi cab,
Bleedin’ so hard you need a life-size maxi pad.
I’m Ready to Die without a Reasonable Doubt
Smoke Chronic and hit it Doggystyle before I go out.
Until they sign my Death Certificate, All Eyez on Me
I’m still at it, Illmatic, and that’s The Documentary.
You know the wisdom is reflected in the knowledge when it’s manifested;
If not fed in due time, the mind is anorexic.
So you think that hip-hop had its start out in Queensbridge?
If you popped that junk up in the Bronx, you might not live!
A rap villain: chillin’ and I don’t give a fuck about a killin’ cause I’m still in effect when you’re illin’.
Slim Shady: Hotter then a set of twin babies
In a Mercedes Benz, with the windows up
When the temp goes up to the mid 80’s.
Fake MC’s – they always act hard
But won’t walk the streets without their bodyguards.
I’m not a sucka, so I don’t need a bodyguard.
The principles of true hip-hop have been forsaken,
It’s all contractual and about money makin’.
Everybody’s got opinions on the way you’re livin’,
But see, they can’t fill your shoes.
Deja vu, tell you what I’m gonna do,
When they reminisce over you, my God.
God works in different ways and it shows…
And everybody knows, love comes and goes.
This is jazz, this is funk, this is soul, this is gospel
This is sanctified sick, this is player Pentecostal.
This is church front pew, Amen, pulpit,
What my people need and the opposite of bullshit.
When you fall for a girl named Hope
How you gonna have any when she decides to go?
We brag on havin’ bread, but none of us are bakers.
We all talk havin’ greens, but none of us on acres.
If none of us on acres, and none of us grow wheat,
Then who will feed our people when our people need to eat?
So it seems our people starve from lack of understandin’
Cause all we seem to give them is some ballin’ and some dancin’,
And some talkin’ about our car and imaginary mansions.
We should be indicted for bullshit we inciting,
Havin’ children deaf and pretendin’ it’s exciting.
We are advertisements for agony and pain.
We exploit the youth. We tell them to join a gang.
We tell them dope stories, introduced them to the game.
I own the night…the heat’s my receipt.